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Thursday, 31 March 2011 (madcap manhattan weekend day four: hunting the wild lilah, entering la monte young's dream, and ignoring the rain) 10:29am I thought I'd disabled comments on all the kittypr0n episodes on YouTube, but evidently I missed a few, and this is high praise indeed. Balancing it out, the book rejections have been rolling in fast and furious. It's like they know I'm in town or something. 11:23am can i have hot sauce, please? sure! Okay, I give up. "Hot sauce" in New York equals "Tabasco." We're in the very shiny Yaffa Cafe in St. Marks, having lunch with Lilah, who is also still very shiny. Ilene's a fan of Lilah's now-defunct fashion blog, and was excited to learn that I know Lilah and was going to be hanging out with her, and Lilah was of course pleased and flattered when I told her about Ilene's fandom. 1:52pm At Trash and Vaudeville, one of the first places that Lilah had insisted I simply must visit in New York. And it is pretty great, reminding me a lot of the old Daljeet's, but more authentic-y. And they were playing The Replacements when we walked in, which is never a bad sign. I almost bought a pair of boots, much like my original Fluevogs but taller (much taller than the ones Fluevog makes these days) but of course they didn't have them in my size. Oh well. Saved myself a few hundred bucks right there. Now, on to La Monte Dream's House, which has been one of my primary reasons for wanting to go to ever since Vash raved about it to me during her New York visit in 2005. Of course, back then we'd talked about going to it together, but we'd talked about doing a lot of things together in New York, but they never happened and they never will and maybe it never truly mattered. 3:53pm The Dream House was amazing, an immersive experience of light and sound and sensation that changed with every movement. Glorious. And, importantly, both Lilah and Marta enjoyed it, too. From here, we walk to Ground Zero. Maybe I'll feel something, finally. 4:17pm A "Memorial Void?" Really? Kind of underwhelmed by Ground Zero. Still not feeling much, but it's been cracking me up how much halal food is available in New York, especially in food trucks. For as much as the Fox News types go batshit over halal and all things Islam, it's almost like actual New Yorkers don't really give a shit. 5:30pm At the Double Down, one of Lilah's favorite trashy metal dive bars, and she's an expert in such things. The Dark Room really needs its own version of the sign painted on the wall here. People hardly ever puke at The Dark Room, thank goodness, but we need it all the same. I also love the concept of the avid punk fan who thinks outside the punk box. 6:57pm Marta and I are having our final New York dinner at Three of Cups, an Italian restaurant recommended by Lilah. She was not able to join us, but she did spend six hours walking around New York with us, which was wonderful. After all these years, I still feel a little in awe of her, and honored that she would willingly hang out with us, and even prolong it for as long as she could. | ||
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Wendesday, 30 March 2011 (madcap manhattan weekend day three: back to manhattan to hunt the natural history whale and the wild egg cream) 9:12am Mmm. Oatmeal. It doesn't take long for me to miss the basics. 11:23am Tried, and failed, to get tickets to the taping of The Colbert Report tonight. Oh well. 12:39pm Hey, our first subway panhandler! We almost have a bingo. I've also decided to stop hiding my tail up under my jacket on the subway, since my overall subway anxiety has subsided, and the fact of the matter, nobody cares. 1:06pm Famous Original Ray's Pizza! We made it! Making it to one of the legendary Rays' had been on my list, and even better, the girl behind the counter loves my hair, especially when I took down my hood and she got to see the full squid. I can only conclude this means that I win at New York. That, and the fact that people keep asking Marta and I for diretions, so we're clearly passing as locals. The Upper West Side is the first part of New York where I've thought to myself, sure, i could live here, because of course it is. It's Woody Allen country, after all. 4:53pm We spent the afternoon at the American Museum of Natural History, looking at dinosaur bones and giant whales and meteorites and even Lucy (as well as learning not-so-fun-facts about otters, making me distrust them all the more). We're currently taking a detour through Central Park—which is somewhat disappointing for Marta with its overwhelming brownness, and indeed, spring has not sprung as much as we'd hoped, considering the fact that we're here during spring break—on the way to the subway to go to Katz's Delicatessen for dinner. 7:41pm Katz's Delicatessen was a little on the intimidating side, since we had no idea what to do with the ticket the gruff guy at the door gave us, which he warned us not to lose under any circumstances. But we were able to get a table with waiter service, thank goodness, and the food was good, though not actually better than Miller's. Which is a relief, especially since I like the ambience much better at Miller's (plus I live in San Francisco and all). 8:03pm At the Strand Bookstore. It's not the first time I've had this thought, but I've decided I want my first official author photo to be shot by Nan Goldin. There, I said it aloud. Don't know how I'll make that happen, exactly, but I will. 10:58pm Back at Tom's now. We walked around SoHo and the Lower East Side after dinner, into the Strand, and just generally felt like we were in the nighttime New York I've heard so much about. And we also went into Times Square (which I'm annoyingly insisting on referring to Caprica City), even though we'd gone there on Monday, because I simply had to know what it looks like at night. And isn't that the whole point of it? | ||
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Tuesday, 29 March 2011 (madcap manhattan weekend day two: williamsburg, productivity and fucking hipsters!) 11:11am No Manhattan for us today. Instead, we'll be going to Tom and Julie's office in Williamsburg, where I hope to get some—nay, a lot of writing done on the laptop which Tom is kindly loaning me for the duration of our stay. Presently, Marta and I are having a late breakfast at a vegan Williamsburg cafe called Bliss, a name which may well prove to be ironic. Also ironic is the fact that the gayest painting in San Francisco is actually in New York. Who knew? After this, we're going to buy a box of oatmeal so we don't have to do this stupid "expensive breakfast late in the morning" thing for the rest of the week. Took us long enough to figure that one out. 12:06pm As everyone on the internet knows, hipsters are evil and are to be hated because they're hipsters and they're evil (as near as I can tell, that's the logic), and Williamsburg is center of all hipster activity in the world. So, every time I see a hipster I say fuck you, hipster! to maintain my superiority over them. Problem, is every time I do that, it turns out I'm saying it to my own reflection in a window. Still, I'm choosing to blame the hipsters for the fact that there are no Wells Fargo ATMs in Brooklyn. Fucking hipsters! For that matter, I'll bet the view outside Tom and Julie's office was a lot nicer before the hipsters moved in. It was probably, like, a park or something. Fucking hipsters! It's almost as bad as when kink.com moved into the old armory and destroyed the formerly crime-and-drug-free, family-friendly corner of 14th and Mission in San Francisco. So sad. 12:40pm Oh, goddamnit—as usual, we're missing all the really cool stuff by about a week: the Anthology Film Archives just showed Michael Snow's Wavelength, a film I dearly love and haven't seen properly projected since film school. So close! 1:35pm The latest rejection says Bottomfeeder is "entertaining, edgy and exciting" and that my writing "has a lot of enviable style." Hey, if they say so! I'm finally meeting My Agent tonight, at Redd's in Brooklyn. It's a shame it can't be more celebratory, but fuck it, that's just a good reason to drink. 3:51pm Just got called "he" for the first time in New York, by a guy behind a deli counter in Williamsburg (very much not a fucking hipster) who had never heard of dolma, and his already Radio Shack-esque blank stare only grew blanker when I tried to explain that it's traditionally seasoned rice wrapped in grape leaves. He then turned to his coworker and said can you help? i don't understand what he's trying to tell me. At which point I politely excused myself and we left without buying anything, and I grumbled to Marta that those pigfuckers (my favorite word these days, for some reason) are not going to get my business. Oh well. It was bound to happen, I guess. sometime after midnight Just got in from a night of boozing and bonding with My Agent. If that (and, um, the writing) don't make me a Writer, I don't know what does. It wasn't all shop talk by any means, but what shop talk there was went quite well—I now believe more than ever that she intends to stick with me for as long as it takes (agents are notorious for dropping or otherwise neglecting clients who aren't cash cows), and also very importantly, her bosses as the agency support me as well. She says they like Bottomfeeder a lot, and are genuinely surprised that it hasn't found a publisher yet. Even beyond the fact that the material is kinda out there and scary to people, the simple fact is that the memoir well has been poisoned in recent years by people like James Frey, and she liked my idea to rebrand it as fiction and see if that makes it easier to sell. I certainly wouldn't be the first San Franciscan dyke writer to market an obvious memoir as fiction (though, for the life of me, I can't think of any particular examples). We also discussed returning my focus to Landing on Water, getting that published first. I've never liked the idea of my first book being the one transitioning, but at least it isn't the first one written, even if it ends up being the first one published. And I'm well aware that the first books written are almost never the first ones to get published anyway. So. We have ideas, we do. (The way I see the books arranging themselves chronologically, though order of publication is anyone's guess: Landing on Water (1999, breaking up with longtime girlfriend while coming out as trans, goth scene, dot-com world), Shelter from the Storm (2000 - 2005, dot-com crash and 9/11, finding my voice as a writer and continuing to transition, Maddy), Bottomfeeder (2005 - 2007, we all know how that one goes), and the fourth book will either be called Meet on the Ledge or Yiff (2008 - ?, Ripley, post-Vash void, Marta, Ilene, picking up the animal stuff which was removed from Bottomfeeder and continuing with it, obviously no idea yet what the third act is). Before that, we had hung out and had dinner with another old college friend of Marta's, someone she hasn't seen in many years and one whom Marta warned me about thusly: the only proper way to describe her is that she's a "free spirit". And I wouldn't disagree, but only so long as the scare quotes are in place. I don't know what form a free spirit would truly take, but I also expect they wouldn't use that term to describe themself as she did, also throwing in the word "gypsy" and "vagabond" at certain points, and basically being self-conscious about the identity to the point where there didn't seem to be much that was freeing about it at all. But I'm a fucking hipster, and there are many people who would argue that I'm the farthest thing from authentic and that my entire being is false, so what do I know? As we parted company with her, there was some brief, noncommittal talk about getting together again later in the week, and possibly her joining us at La Monte Young's Dream House on Thursday. That would give Marta someone to pair up with if she and Lilah don't click, but I also got the impression from Marta's body language that it would be just as well if that was our only visit with her. We'll see, I guess. | ||
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Monday, 28 March 2011 (madcap manhattan weekend day one: manhattan) 7:01am Good morning, Brooklyn! 10:37am Well, the subways are pretty much what Jacob's Ladder and The Warriors led me to believe they might be. The level of human despair is palpable, making the San Francisco Muni at its worst seem cheery by comparsion. At Ess-A-Bagel in Manhattan, recommneded by Julie as a good place to get one of those famous New York bagels that we've heard so much about. I'm not all that impressed by the bagel—it's good, but hardly revelatory—but a woman just sat down who looks like she could be Vash's cousin. She most likely isn't, at least not a close cousin, but...yeah. I get it. 12:02pm We're at the New York Public Library. The front of it looks just like it did in Ghostbusters! Very exciting. I also have a new career goal for when I get my MLIS: I want to work in the Rodgers & Hammerstein Archives of Recorded Sound. Ideally it wouldn't require moving out of San Francisco, but I'll work out that detail later. Thus far, it's the only thing that would make me actively want to move to New York, since ain't nothin' else doing it yet. Some people had predicted that I would fall in love with New York within hours and want to move here, but San Francisco is still very much my home. 1:33pm After making our way through Grand Central Station (which feels smaller than it does in the movies, The Fisher King being the example most on my mind), we're not Having lunch with Matthue at Hangawi. Or, rather, he's sitting with Marta and I as we chow down on our vegan Korean food, of which he cannot partake because it's not a kosher kictchen. But he assured me that he's perfectly okay with that, he's having himself a lunchtime cocktail and has no problem returning to lunch drunk, because he's just happy to see me. And I'm happy to see him, too. He looks so grown up now, with his full Orthodox beard and everything! But he hasn't lost his spark, and that's what matters, and he's still a sweetheart and he's always been there for me over the years and I'll always love him for that. 3:11pm In Times Square, because as with so many places on the list, I have to see if it's really real. And it really is real, in a Caprica City Before The Fall way. I hope these people are being nice to their robots. What I'd really like to do is go to the first 41st floor of the Time-Life Building to find the window which Andy Warhol shot Empire out of, but we're fairly certain that they won't let us poke around up there. Alas. At least I got to see the theater where the now-legendary Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark is playing, so I now finally believe it exists. The only show in town that I'm actually interested in is Trey Parker and Matt Stone's The Book of Mormon, but, yeah, our budget does not allow for Broadway shows, not to mention Marta really hates South Park, and I can't blame her for that. 4:02pm Back in the Library, in the Laptop and Wireless room. We've walked around a lot, including checking out Radio City Music Hall (Low is playing there next week opening for Explosions in the Sky, but do they get their name listed anywhere? Of course not) and Rockefeller Center to see all the places used in establishing shots on 30 Rock and whatnot, and then a stop in Bryant Park to eat the other half of our bagels from this morning. But there's no question that our energy levels are dipping precipitously, what with having flown so far yesterday and changing time zones and only getting about five hours of sleep last night. But we have dinner plans with an old college friend of Marta's, so we're soldiering on. 7:07pm At Two Boots in Park Slope, a pizza place which Jim from The Dark Room had recommended. We'd originally planned on eating at an Indian place in Manhattan, but Marta's friend hadn't caed for the vibe (I didn't mind, and in fact liked the quietness that she found so unsettling, and I was just along for the ride). We'd talked about going to the NYC Talent Show open mic at the Bowery Poetry Club, and even in spite of our rapidly waning energy we might have gone except that there is actually no guarantee that I would get to read—open mic participants are chosen at random. I just don't like those odds, especially when the lag is kicking in. So, sleep instead. 9:13pm I'd been lead to believe that New Yorkers never make eye contact, but my experience today would suggest otherwise, since I got stared at a lot. Matthue suggests it's because there's a lack of both fabulousness and just simple color in New York. | ||
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Sunday, 27 March 2011 (madcap manhattan weekend day zero) 7:13am Oh, man, our driver to the airport (who I got through a Yelp Deal, because it's 2011 and that's what we do) is wearing a fedora. I hope the entire trip is this classy! 9:45am Yeah, not so much. For reaons which are still unclear (Marta thinks it's because she didn't sufficiently bend her arms in the scanner, but I don't buy it), we got pulled aside in the security line for a patdown. It was specifically Marta, but I was pulled into it as well when I refused to keep my distance from the girl I love as she spiraled into a panic attack. And it's not like she didn't warn them it might happen (i don't do very well in these situations, i tend to have panic attacks), but I'm sure their rules don't allow them to let someone pass just they claim they might freak the fuck out, or even if they proceed to freak the fuck out. And since I was holding her and trying to help her breathe and get throught it, well, according to those rules I became a threat as well. Whatevs. What mattered to me was that Marta was not separated from me, that she wasn't alone in that private room with the two female TSA agents—who were very sweet, no question, and there was a definite air of yeah, sorry about this about them, with a slightly accusatory touch of this is what you get for constantly touching her thrown at me for good measure. There was a definite good cop / bad cop dynamic at work, as one was doing the patdown of a trembling, panicky Marta as the other was talking about the places in New York we should visit, and we continued the discussion as I received my patdown as well. And then it was done and they let us go, not having found anything on us. Including, it can't not be noted, the fact that I have a penis. There was no small amount of controversy when the scary radiation scanners were introduced last year, and depending on which sites you read or Twitter feeds you follow, a major part of this controversy involved the potential shaming of trans people. (And then there were sites and Twitter feeds which didn't bring up that issue at all, because to them, it doesn't exist at all. Anyway, in neither the scanning nor the patdown was it a problem or mentioned at all. I guess I have a fair amount of trans privilege. I should feel guilty about it or something, as anyone with any privilege is supposed to, but mostly I'm just happy I got through it all without a hitch. Beyond the hitch of it having happened in the first place, that is. 3:01pm Dig us, we're on Eastern Time! We're not actually in that time zone yet, but I've set my phone to it anyway. Marta and I are watching Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World on my iPhone 4, while the guy in front of us is watching Moon on his iPad. I'm biased, but I think we win by just a little. 9:11pm Our taxi driver, the one next in line at JFK, didn't know how to get to the address we gave him in Bed-Stuy, or even just Brooklyn itself. He actually asked us, the ones who just got off the plane from San Francisco, how to get to Brooklyn. Damn. I've since been informed that this sort of thing is not uncommon, that taxi drivers don't like going to Brooklyn (especially from the airport), but shit. Not an especially auspicious start. Heaven knows the neighborhoods we drove through felt like a not-entirely-demilitarized zone, like the gnarliest parts of Oakland but with a lot more red brick. And the actual neighborhood we're staying in is pretty much as sketchy as we'd expected it to be based on Google Street View (not to mention what everyone told us about the area), but the place itself is quite nice, our hosts Julie and Tom are quite gracious and have five (5!) cats, and we have our own room with a bed and everything. They also have a dog, and when Tom announced that he was going to walk the dog, I asked to go with him. I'm still feeling no small amount of anxiety about staying in such a rough-looking area, let alone the one that Do the Right Thing made famous. Walking around the block with him helped, and I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually. And now, dinner and beverages at The Black Swan. sometime after midnight I'm on vacation, damnit, and on vacation in New York, which means an introductory meal starting with a Bloody Mary and fried calamari and a cheese plate including what I'm told was fried goat cheese and it was all terribly delicious, and I had a salmon and bacon and lettuce and tomato sammich minus the bacon and Marta had macaroni and cheese and those were also terribly delicious, and again, am I on vacation in New York or am I not? I am, and if I put on some extra poundage while I'm here, so be it, I'll work it off when I'm back in San Francisco. | ||
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Saturday, 26 March 2011 (your eddies and tides and hurricanes and cyclones) 11:31am Root reblondification is in process, and then I'm going to repurplify my bangs. They've faded to a pleasant pink, which is one of the nice things about purple on blonde—it doesn't fade as atrociously as some colors do. But still. Today's the day of the next floor party, and Marta and I came to the conclusion that it just wouldn't work for us, not with having a car picking us up at seven tomorrow morning to take us to the airport. We simply have to much preparation to do today, and we need to get a good night's sleep if at all possible. It's an extra shame because Davina was going to be at this one, and Ilene's disappointment that we wouldn't be there seemed genuine. But we have plans to do something one-on-one in May, and what's more, based on what she told me about the number of people she expects to be there, it really does feel just as well. Besides, she also says that her playlist for this time around has been partially shaped by my suggestions, and I'd like to think my presence will be felt that way. All the same time, I'm trying my best to not think about what may be happening. In the meantime, I just made my first reservation for lunch in New York (Hangawi on Monday), while still in San Francisco. I feel so cosmopolitan! | ||
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Friday, 25 March 2011 (selling the bridge) 12:42pm Back home now. I'm going to work for a few hours, and then I'm meeting Marta for dinner in Japantown. Ilene and I did not go running this morning. It wasn't nearly as ugly out as it was last Friday, but she's also certain that it was the running in the rain last week that resulted in her current illness, and I wasn't about to try to convince her otherwise. We did do a lot of stretching, though, including trying a pose that I've seen before but did not know was called The Plow. And when she said i'm going to train you to do the plow, it definitely sparked something in me, as certain words are wont to do these days. In any event, there's not a whole lot of training as such necessary, as I was able to get pretty close to it on my first attempt. Yay for working on my core so much in recent years. 6:14pm Found a fuzzy blue-and-white scarf for three dollars at the Goodwill in Japantown for three dollars, one of the dozens of similar scarves all over the store. I only got the one, but I realize now that it would make a perfect daily-use tail. I'll have to return soon to stock up on other colors. 7:34pm i'm not sure you need three girlfriends. and i don't want to talk about this right now anyway. | ||
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Thursday, 24 March 2011 (the city and her skin) 9:37am Working at home while a gnarly rainstorm does its thing outside. It's a rare thing indeed when storms keep their promises in San Francisco, but this one is hanging in there, reminding me quite of a bit of El Nino in 1998. Of course, I don't have to go out into this one like I did back then. Or, at least, I won't have to until I head to The House of Boxed Steam this afternoon. And then I'll head right back out into the world again, since Ilene has a letter that needs to go into the mailbox across the street and she's ill. Which I don't mind doing at all. I'm also going to be attempting to make this soup for Ilene, which was Marta's suggestion—she even helped me buy some of the ingredients last night. I'm far more worried about this than I should be, but it's the first time I've made something this complex, let alone for someone else and in their kitchen. And, hey, I'm also going to New York next week. So many firsts this month! 2:11pm Just receieved my contributor's copy of the latest make/shift. Even though it is a pr0n review and it's just plain silly not to be frank about such things, I'm still pleased they let me keep things like "fucking and sucking" in. Doing It Ourselves: The Trans Women Porn ProjectAnd, of course, referencing both Godard and Findlay makes me happy. I went to film school, so I'm, like, totally allowed to do that. The other review was of a book (not a pr0n book, and thank goodness for that, because I don't think I properly review written erotica to save my life: Untangle the Knots Within: A Woman's Passage to Find Answers to Her Sister's Death in Police CustodySo, yeah. Whether I get asked to do anything for the next issue remains to be seen, and probably wouldn't be for seveal months yet anyway. 9:42pm The soup turned out quite well, I gotta say, and Ilene certainly liked it. She also showed me the material she intends to use to make me a pair of proper horse ears. Neat. We also just talked a lot, as has always been our favorite pastime with each other, including what her feelings would be about me dating Davina and what form that would even take. Now, cuddling and Monster in a Box. | ||
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Wednesday, 23 March 2011 (just the slightest bit of finesse) 9:51am Just drove Marta to work. Dinner with Davina and Mouse went quite well last night, even though it was a family dinner with their two children. Normally that would be kind of horrible for me, but it was actually really nice, because they're terribly sharp kids—taking after their parents, natch. Ilene and I have talked about co-babysitting together, since part of how they make sure everybody is able to go out at some point is by trading off babysitting duties. It's why Ilene wasn't at poker on Saturday night, for example. And I feel like if I'm going be part of this circle and take advantage of what it has to offer (and I am, and I will), then I should also pull my weight in other ways, too. Especially if also means getting to spend more time with Ilene, because I am nothing if not a creature of openly ulterior motives. In any event, I expect I'll babysit Davina and Mouse's kids with Ilene someday, even if odds are that Ilene will do the majority of the heavy lifting. There was a bit of processiness between Marta and I on the way home, mostly involving me kissing Davina twice towards the end of the evening. Not for very long either time (the first one was preceded by me saying okay, i really have to get this out of my system which for better or worse was true after the deference on Saturday, and the second was a goodbye kiss), maybe fifteen seconds all told, but it was also after I'd been failing to properly act on Marta's clear desire to go home, and as a result we stayed longer than she wanted to, which can tend to result in crankiness even when it doesn't then involve me kssing the hostess (don't talk about the kid, martha) or just the issues raised by the fact that I want to. 8:22pm Bonus evening with Marta: we had dinner at her place, and now we're at a salon on the border of the Tenderloin and Union Square (though much more Tenderloiny, all things considered). They would seem to have an endless supply of Pabst Blue Ribbon (PBR, as the kids call it) since everybody's drinking it and I've been offered one three different times now. 9:41pm All done now. Marta's hair looks like spumoni, which is delicious! | ||
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Tuesday, 22 March 2011 (naked and blue) 8:27am Spun this morning, though on Thursday I'll be doing the one-on-one stuff with Rita. And maybe Yvonne if she's back by then. My new laptop is supposed to arrive today, which is mildly tricky because unlike with the Ramona Flowers bag, which came all the way from freakin' Brazil, I can't just have it held at the FedEx office. I have to actually be here at home to sign up for it. And, of course, my doorbell is largely nonexistent. So, I've put up a sign on the gate asking them to call me. Here's to hoping. And even when it does arrive, I'm going to play with it for a while. I gotta get my current work queue finished before we leave for New York next week. Annoyingly enough, the "break" was supposed to go on, the new brief set of articles that would pay a lot more, seems to be dead in the water—according to the marketing guy, the clients are not responding to him. Gah. I've also apologized to him for my reduced output this month, and he accepted my contrition. I also talked to him about Lisa (who actually has much more experience in this sort of writing than I do) possibly coming on board, and he seems enthusiastic about it, as does she. So that's something. 11:39am Listening to Jhonn Balance shouting whistle and i'll fuck you with a knife! over and over really shouldn't help my productivity. And yet. 1:21pm The laptop arrived! It's in a very nice-looking brown box, with a little black plastic handle and everything. Okay, back to work now. When I have time for such things, I want to rewrite my entry about last Friday into a standalone story, which will be called "Meet on the Ledge" for what are completely obvious reasons to me. There've gotta be some erotica anthologies out there with current calls for submission, and I really just need to start submitting more in general. As always. Tonight, Marta and I are having dinner with Davina and Mouse at their place, like grownups do. | ||
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Monday, 21 March 2011 (faded wisdom, locked karma, whatever's convenient) 8:24am Collette is coming over at noon to get the keys to the apartment and re-introduce herself to Perdita to prepare for catsitting next week. As a result, I'm obsessing about the state of the apartment for more than I should. Not to mention my own appearance. 12:52pm That went well, and wasn't nearly as awkward as it might have been, since we've hung out and/or run into each other a few times in recent years. I think it's safe to say that we both tarted up perhaps a bit more than we really needed to, but, well, that's who we are. We're overdressers by nature. I asked her to take a cursory glance at Perdita's teeth, and Collette said that while they could use a cleaning—a handscaling, it's called—they're nowhere near as bad off as the vet had suggested. Looks like I might be taking Perdita to a new vet soon. 3:11pm Just met Janeway, the new dog. Gorgeous creature, an Alaskan Malamute, which Wikipedia claims has "a very quiet temperament." Win! Very friendly, too, and I get the impression she's much lighter on her feet than the previous upstairs dog. Though Perdita remains the cutest thing on four paws in the building. That's not about to change. 6:53pm I think a guy in his mid-seventies flirted with me at the produce market. hi, honey. um, hello. don't ever grow old like grandpa here, okay? I'll certainly see what I can do about that. sometime after midnight "Yiff" does not appear in Merriam-Webster's Official SCRABBLE Players Dictionary, 4th Edition. Here's to hoping they get it right in the fifth edition. | ||
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